Lost Figment

Tag: Kinloch Hold

  • Chapter 7 – A Reunion

    14 August – 9 Kingsway 9:29

    The journey to Lothering took eight long days, her path weaving between fields and wooded trails to avoid the main roads. The solitude was both a blessing and a curse—while it kept her hidden from prying eyes, it also gave her far too much time to think. She found herself replaying her time with Cullen over and over again.

    The ruins. The way his eyes lit up when she shared her theories about the carvings. His quiet, steady presence as he listened. “You’re incredible, you know that?” The words echoed in her mind, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She’d been so caught up in the ruins that she hadn’t noticed how intently he had been watching her until later—until the memory surfaced like a vivid dream. The realization stirred something in her, something she couldn’t quite name but couldn’t ignore either. Yet, that warmth was quickly replaced by guilt. You’re letting yourself get distracted, she scolded. Everything after that morning was a disaster, and it’s your fault for trusting him too easily.

    When she finally reached Lothering, the village was as small and unassuming as Berthold had described. The thatched-roof buildings huddled together near the main road, surrounded by endless stretches of farmland. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint smell of woodfire and livestock hung in the air. A few villagers milled about, their gazes lingering on her just long enough to remind her that strangers were uncommon here. She pulled her hood lower, hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

    After securing a modest room at the local inn, she spent the evening nursing a simple meal of stew and bread, her gaze drifting between the other patrons and the window overlooking the quiet street. The conversations around her were subdued, the hum of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos she’d left behind. For a moment, she let herself relax, taking comfort in the stillness.

    But that night, sleep eluded her. She tossed and turned, her thoughts spinning as the reality of her situation pressed down on her.

    Lothering is too obvious. The realization jolted her awake, her heart racing. She sat up, running a hand through her hair as her mind began to race. If Michael had sent word to their mother—and she couldn’t imagine him keeping quiet—her mother would undoubtedly alert the Duke and Duchess of Markham. This would be the first place they’d check after Kinloch Hold. She couldn’t stay here. Not when the chances of being found were so high.

    Guilt twisted in her chest as her thoughts turned to Cullen. Surely, by now, her family or even the Templars might have questioned him. Would he be punished for helping her? The thought made her stomach churn. He didn’t deserve any of this—she had dragged him into her mess, and now he might be facing consequences for a decision she’d forced him to make. If I’d just stayed calm and thought it through, none of this would’ve happened. But she hadn’t, and now both of them were paying the price.

    Her mind drifted to the conversations she’d had with Varric and Berthold about planning her route. West Hill had always been a backup plan, a place where she could safely send word to Varric. But now, it wasn’t just about updating him on her situation—it was about reaching her father. He needed to know what had happened at Kinloch Hold, to know the lengths Michael had gone to and how far their mother might escalate things. Varric could help her navigate this, maybe even convince her father to intervene.

    And though she wouldn’t admit it to herself, the idea of telling Varric about Cullen brought her a sliver of comfort. She could already imagine his teasing grin, the way he’d lean back in his chair and call her out for getting attached to a “handsome Templar with a hero complex.” The thought made her smile despite herself. She could already hear Varric’s voice: “Oh, so now you’ve got a knight in shining armor? This is the plot twist I didn’t see coming, pup.”

    Ariana shook her head, pushing the thought aside. There was no time for fantasies or distractions. She needed to act. West Hill would be her next stop. From there, she could send word to Varric and arrange a plan to reach her father without drawing too much attention.

    The idea of heading back to Crestwood also lingered in her mind. It was farther from the main roads and not as exposed as Lothering. She remembered the hours she had spent talking to Cullen. For the briefest moment, she entertained the thought of running into him again, her heart quickening at the possibility. Stop it, she scolded herself. You can’t afford to get lost in these thoughts. But the idea of being close to him, even if only for a moment, was hard to push away.

    By the time the sun began to rise, she had a new plan. She would restock her supplies and leave Lothering by nightfall, heading toward West Hill while avoiding the main roads. If Berthold was there, he could deliver a message to Varric, and she could decide her next steps from there. Perhaps Crestwood would be her next stop. For now, she just needed to keep moving.

    ~~~

    It took nearly twelve days for Ariana to make her way back to West Hill. Avoiding the main road had been more time-consuming than she’d hoped, with her detours through dense woods and uneven fields leaving her exhausted and sore. She slept under the stars most nights, her cloak wrapped tightly around her for warmth as the air grew crisper with the approach of Kingsway. By the time she arrived on the 3rd, she was weary but relieved to finally see the familiar sight of West Hill’s docks.

    Her first thought was of Berthold. She could only hope she hadn’t missed him. He’d said he passed through West Hill “about every month,” and while she had clung to those words as reassurance, she couldn’t be sure how precise his schedule was. As she stepped onto the docks, her heart pounded, her thoughts racing. What if I’ve just missed him? What if he’s not back for weeks?

    The dockmaster, a weathered man with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, glanced up as she approached. “Can I help you, miss?”

    “Yes,” Ariana replied, forcing a polite smile despite her nerves. “I’m looking for a sailor named Berthold. Has he been by recently?”

    The dockmaster scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful. “Last I saw him was about a month ago—came in, dropped off some goods, and left the same day.”

    Relief flooded through her, and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank the Maker,” she murmured, her voice almost trembling. She was just in time—Berthold’s next visit could be any day now.

    With renewed energy, Ariana set out to find parchment and ink. The bustling market offered a variety of wares, and after a bit of searching, she managed to purchase a modest writing set. She found a quiet corner at the small tavern she’d stayed at during her first visit to West Hill and began drafting her letter to Varric.

    Her pen hovered over the page for a moment before the words began to flow. She explained her situation in detail, recounting what had happened at Kinloch Hold and the encounter with Michael. She included a brief, almost playful note about a very handsome Templar who had ultimately helped her escape, though she was careful to avoid mentioning Cullen by name. It wasn’t a matter of distrust—she knew Varric would never betray her confidence—but letters passed through many hands before reaching their destination. She couldn’t risk Cullen’s name being overheard or misinterpreted, especially if it made its way back to her family.

    Varric, she wrote toward the end, I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I’m doing my best to find solid footing again. I’m heading toward Crestwood next—it seems safer than Lothering, at least for now. I could use your advice on how to handle my mother’s inevitable schemes. And, well… I’d also like to hear how things are in Kirkwall. You always did have the best stories to distract me from my troubles.

    Satisfied with her letter, she sealed it carefully, then returned to the docks. The dockmaster accepted the letter and her payment—five silver coins—with a nod. “I’ll make sure it gets to Berthold when he arrives,” he assured her.

    “Thank you,” Ariana said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. With that weight off her shoulders, she turned her attention to restocking her supplies. She purchased dried meats, bread, a new waterskin, and an extra cloak to ward off the chill of the coming season. By the time she finished, dusk had settled over the village, and she decided to secure a room at the inn for the night.

    As she lay in bed that evening, her thoughts turned to the road ahead. Crestwood would be her next destination—a small, quiet village nestled near a lake and dam. It had struck her as quaint and peaceful during her first visit, a place where she could keep a low profile while figuring out her next steps.

    But try as she might to focus on practical matters, her mind kept drifting back to Cullen. The thought of him waiting at the Lake Calenhad docks, of seeing his warm smile and hearing his steady voice again, sent a flutter through her chest. It was foolish to think he’d be there—he had his duties, after all, and she had no reason to believe he’d seek her out. Yet the idea of crossing paths with him once more filled her with quiet hope.

    She let herself imagine it for a moment: the two of them meeting by chance, sharing stories, and perhaps even visiting the ruins again. But with that hope came a shadow of guilt. You’re only going to cause more trouble for him if you go back, she reminded herself. He’s already risked enough for you.

    Still, as she drifted off to sleep, the faint smile on her lips betrayed her thoughts. No matter how impractical or unlikely, a part of her couldn’t stop hoping that fate might bring them together again.

    ~~~

    Cullen often found his thoughts drifting back to Ariana, no matter how hard he tried to push them aside. It had been nearly twenty days since she left, and yet her memory clung to him, vivid and persistent. He would catch himself replaying moments from their time together: the way her eyes lit up as she spoke about the Elven ruins, the gentle lilt of her voice as she recounted stories from her life, the way she had smiled at him—warm and unguarded, if only for brief moments. Those memories surfaced unbidden, more often than he cared to admit, and they left a lingering ache he couldn’t quite shake.

    He should have been relieved that he’d managed to avoid trouble for her escape. Somehow, everyone’s attention remained focused on the fact that he had been the one to apprehend her in the first place. Why, they reasoned, would he let her go? The irony was almost laughable, though Cullen found no joy in it. He had been lucky. His decision to appear compliant with both Knight-Commander Greagoir and Ser Michael had worked in his favor, and ultimately, they’d concluded that some absent-minded Templar had left the cell door unlocked—or that Ariana had used lockpicks, a skill Michael had grudgingly suggested might have been taught to her by their father.

    The Circle, much to Cullen’s relief, decided to move on, dismissing the incident as an embarrassment rather than a security breach. And so, his role in her escape was buried under the daily demands of life at Kinloch Hold. But for Cullen, it wasn’t so simple. While the Circle moved on, Ariana lingered in his mind.

    He found himself questioning why she had such a hold on him. They’d known each other for only a few days, and yet those few days felt more significant than weeks or even months he’d spent with others. Conversations with her had been effortless, a rare connection that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t before. She had been guarded, certainly, but when she let her walls down, the warmth and strength beneath them had captivated him. He could only imagine how that connection might have deepened if he had been honest with her from the start. Instead, he had betrayed her trust, and though he had tried to make amends, the memory of her pain still haunted him.

    More than anything, he hoped she was safe. He couldn’t help but wonder where she was now. Had she made it to Lothering? Was she keeping to the plan she’d mentioned, or had she been forced to change course again? Was she still thinking of him, even as he thought of her?

    He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat by the window of his quarters, staring out at the dark waters of Lake Calenhad. His leave was coming up soon—a week off from his duties—and the temptation to use that time to find her was overwhelming. He toyed with the idea of going to Lothering, imagining the relief of seeing her again, of knowing she was safe. But even as the thought formed, he dismissed it. A week wasn’t enough time to make the journey and return to Kinloch Hold without arousing suspicion. And even if it were, what would he say to her? What could he offer her beyond empty reassurances and a promise he might not be able to keep?

    No, he needed to let her go. She was a noble, on the run, and he was just a simple Templar. Whatever connection they had, it wasn’t enough to bridge the chasm between their lives. Cullen knew that now, even if accepting it felt like a slow, twisting knife in his chest.

    Instead, he resolved to visit his family in Honnleath. It wasn’t far from Lake Calenhad, and seeing them would be good for him. His sister Mia always knew how to lift his spirits, and spending time with his parents and younger siblings might help him regain some perspective. It was time to put his focus back where it belonged: on his duties, on the Circle, and on the responsibilities he had taken on when he’d joined the Order.

    And yet, as he made his plans, a part of him couldn’t let go of the hope—no matter how improbable—that their paths might cross again someday. He found himself wondering if she ever thought of him, if she felt the same lingering pull that he did. The thought was both comforting and agonizing, a quiet whisper of what could have been.

    As he closed his eyes that night, her face came to him unbidden: the way her hazel-green eyes shifted with her emotions, the softness of her smile, the determination in her voice as she spoke of her journey. He had known her for only a few days, and yet he knew now, with a certainty that startled him, that she would always be a part of him. She made him whole.

    ~~~

    Ariana felt good about her pace back to Crestwood, managing the journey from West Hill in just three days. Maybe she was finally getting better at traveling off the main roads—or maybe, she mused with a quiet chuckle, she had walked faster because she knew who was waiting at the end of it. Don’t be foolish, she scolded herself. It wasn’t as if she knew Cullen would be waiting for her. He was stationed at Kinloch Hold, after all. He wouldn’t just leave without notice… right?

    She sighed, trying to push the thought aside. The truth was, the road had grown lonely. After nearly a month of solitude, the novelty of travel had long since worn off. The occasional interesting sight or encounter wasn’t enough to stave off the isolation. She missed having someone to talk to—someone like Cullen. And maybe, she admitted to herself, she simply wanted to see him again.

    By the time she reached Crestwood, she was feeling both weary and eager. She decided to stay one night in the village, just long enough to rest her legs and resupply before continuing toward the docks. After securing a room at the tavern, she found herself smiling softly as she drifted to sleep, her thoughts lingering on the possibility of seeing him again.

    At first light, she was already on her way. The trek to the Lake Calenhad docks took her two days, her pace driven by anticipation. She avoided the main roads as much as possible. By Wednesday afternoon, she found herself standing at the edge of the docks, lingering at a distance to observe the comings and goings at The Spoiled Princess.

    She watched for a while, scanning the travelers passing in and out of the tavern. No sign of Templars, and—thankfully—no sign of Michael. With a deep breath, she made her way inside, pausing briefly to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The tavern was quiet, with only a few patrons scattered at the tables. Relief washed over her as she spotted Gilbert behind the bar, his familiar presence calming her nerves.

    Gilbert looked up as she approached, his face lighting up with recognition. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, his voice warm. “Mistress Ryss, isn’t it? You’ve made it back in one piece, I see.”

    Ariana smiled, grateful for his friendliness. “It’s just Ariana to you Gilbert. And I \ have, thanks to some careful planning—and a little luck.”

    Gilbert leaned on the bar, his brow furrowing slightly. “No trouble on the road, I hope?”

    “None worth mentioning,” she replied, though her mind flickered briefly to Kinloch Hold and everything that had happened there. “Has Ser Michael been by?”

    Gilbert shook his head, his expression reassuring. “No, not recently. And believe me, I’ve been keeping an eye out, just in case. You don’t have to worry.”

    Ariana exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank you. Truly, I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness.”

    Gilbert waved a hand dismissively. “No need for that. I’m just glad you’re alright—and that Ser Cullen was able to help you.” His tone held a note of approval, as if he’d been rooting for her all along.

    Her smile softened, her heart swelling at the mention of Cullen. “He… he didn’t have to do what he did,” she said quietly. “But I’ll always be grateful that he did.”

    Gilbert gave her a knowing look but didn’t press further. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”

    Ariana nodded, reaching into her pack for a small note she’d written earlier that day. “Actually, could you deliver this for me? It’s for Ser Cullen. I’ll wait for his response, but if he decides… not to respond, could you just let me know?”

    Gilbert took the note, giving her a reassuring nod. “Of course. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

    She placed a silver coin on the bar, sliding it toward him. “Thank you, Gilbert. For everything.”

    With that, she left the tavern, her heart racing as she made her way to the ruins. She prayed that Cullen would choose to meet her there, that he’d want to see where whatever this was between them might lead. But even as hope fluttered in her chest, doubt crept in. What if he didn’t come? What if he’d decided it was safer—easier—to leave it all behind?

    The ruins came into view, their ancient stones bathed in the soft light of the setting sun. She sat on one of the low walls, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The wait would be excruciating, but for Cullen, she would wait as long as it took.

    ~~~

    Cullen had been delayed in taking his leave. He’d planned to leave several days earlier, but when a fellow Templar fell ill, Cullen had agreed to cover his duties. It was a simple decision—a matter of duty and camaraderie—but the delay weighed on him more than he wanted to admit. By Thursday, he was finally packed and ready, his destination set: Redcliffe, and from there, a short trek to Honnleath. Home. 

    Still, his thoughts lingered on The Spoiled Princess. He had no real reason to stop there—he’d already packed the supplies he needed—but something in him couldn’t resist. He told himself it was habit, a convenient waypoint on his journey. Yet deep down, he knew he’d been grasping at a foolish hope each time he passed through the tavern, scanning the room for a face he wouldn’t see. He cursed himself for it. She was gone, likely far from here, and he needed to let her go. 

    The tavern was quiet when he arrived, just a handful of travelers milling about. He approached the bar, nodding at Gilbert, who greeted him with a wide smile that seemed unusually bright. 

    “Ah, Ser Cullen! Good to see you!” Gilbert said warmly, his tone carrying an undercurrent of excitement. 

    “Good to see you too, Gilbert,” Cullen replied, his voice polite but distracted. He set his pack down on the counter. “I was hoping you might know of anyone heading south across the lake. I need a boat to Redcliffe if you—” 

    Before he could finish, Gilbert began rummaging through his apron pockets, his movements hurried and purposeful. “Ah, yes… Redcliffe. I’ll check with… ah, here it is,” he said, cutting Cullen off as he pulled out a folded note. He handed it to Cullen, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “You might want to take a look at this before making any other plans, Ser Cullen.” 

    Cullen frowned, his confusion deepening. “What’s this?” 

    “A message,” Gilbert said with a sly smile, nodding toward the note. 

    Cullen hesitated for only a moment before taking it. Unfolding the paper, he scanned the words:

    Cullen, 

    I wanted to let you know that I’ll be near the Elven ruins by the lake for the next few days. I don’t expect anything from you—I know how complicated things are, and the last thing I want is to cause you any trouble. 

    If you’d rather leave everything that happened in the past, I understand. Truly. I won’t hold it against you. You’ve already done so much for me, more than I could have ever expected. 

    But if you do want to meet, I’ll be there. Whatever this is between us—if it’s worth exploring—I’d like to see where it leads. If not… I’ll take that as your answer, and I’ll move on. 

    Thank you, Cullen. For everything. 

    – Ariana 

    Cullen read the note twice, his chest tightening with each word. She was here. She had come back. 

    Without a word, he spun on his heel and bolted out of the tavern, leaving a surprised Gilbert behind. His mind raced as his boots pounded against the ground, carrying him toward the ruins. The journey home was forgotten. All that mattered now was reaching her. 

    He didn’t know what he would say when he saw her. But he would figure it out. He had to. 

    She came back, he thought, his heart pounding with something that felt suspiciously like hope. 

    The ruins came into view as he rounded a bend in the path, his breath catching as he quickened his pace. He didn’t care what waited ahead—all that mattered was her. 

    And he would not let her slip away again. 

    ~~~

    It seemed fate was on his side. Had he not been delayed, he likely would have missed her entirely. She might have assumed he’d chosen to forget her, never knowing he hadn’t even seen her note. Little seemed like coincidence anymore—maybe fate really did want their paths to keep crossing.

    As he approached the ruins, the late-morning sun cast soft light through the trees, dappling the ancient stone with golden warmth. He scanned the area carefully, his heart thudding in anticipation. The ruins were quiet, the air still except for the faint rustle of leaves. At first, he didn’t see her, and a flicker of doubt began to creep in. But then, a familiar sight caught his eye—a pack leaning against a tree, partially obscured by the branches. She’s here, he thought, excitement blooming in his chest. But where?

    Just as he turned to search further, her voice called from behind him, warm and teasing. “Hello, stranger.”

    He spun around, and there she was, standing a few paces away, a soft smile on her face. Relief washed over him like a tide, and before he could think twice, he crossed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. The weight of worry he hadn’t even acknowledged until now seemed to lift in an instant. She was here. She was safe.

    For a moment, he held her tightly, but a sudden thought struck him—the last time he’d held her, it had been to restrain her, to keep her from running. His arms loosened instinctively, though he dreaded the idea of pushing her away. But as he began to step back, her hands stayed on his arms, grounding him. Her smile, a bit shy but no less radiant, was a balm to his guilt. She didn’t seem to hold their last parting against him, and for that, he felt immeasurable gratitude.

    When they pulled apart, her gaze fell to his pack, leaning against a nearby rock. “Are you leaving?” she asked, her voice soft with curiosity—and, he thought, maybe a hint of concern.

    He hesitated, glancing at the bag. “I’d planned to visit my family in Honnleath,” he admitted. “It’s not far from here, just south of Lake Calenhad.”

    They found a shaded spot among the ruins, settling onto a low, flat stone to talk. The ease between them returned quickly, their conversation slipping back into that familiar rhythm that had so surprised him before. Ariana apologized first, her words spilling out in a rush. She told him she hoped she hadn’t caused him any trouble, and that she didn’t mean to disrupt his plans.

    Cullen chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Even if I had gotten into trouble—which I didn’t—leaving the Templar Order isn’t exactly an easy process.” His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze was warm, reassuring her that she hadn’t been a burden.

    Ariana smiled at his response, though her expression grew more serious as she told him about her journey—the long, lonely days on the road, the reasons she’d left Lothering, and her plan to stay near Crestwood for now. Cullen listened intently, nodding at times, but his heart leapt at the thought of her being close. He struggled to keep his reaction subtle, though he felt his hope rising with every word she spoke.

    And then, almost without thinking, he asked, “Would you… maybe want to come with me? To Honnleath?” His voice was quieter than he intended, laced with a hope he couldn’t quite conceal.

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. Her brow furrowed slightly as she processed his words. “Are you sure that would be alright?” she asked, her tone cautious. “I wouldn’t want to impose. And how would we explain… me?”

    She gestured vaguely, clearly uncertain about how his family might react to him arriving with a woman they didn’t know. “I don’t want to make things complicated for you,” she added softly.

    Cullen hesitated. She wasn’t wrong—it would be unusual, and he wasn’t entirely sure how his family would react. Every “friend” he’d brought home before had been a fellow Templar, usually a man. On the rare occasions it had been a woman, there had never been even a suggestion of romantic interest. But Ariana was different, and he couldn’t ignore how deeply he felt drawn to her. Surely, his family would notice that too.

    Still, he smiled, meeting her gaze. “It will be fine,” he said confidently. “It wouldn’t be strange for me to bring a friend along for a visit.”

    Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered if they sounded hollow. Was that all she was to him? A friend? The thought tugged at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the moment.

    They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken feelings settling between them. Cullen found himself watching her, the way the sunlight caught the strands of her hair, the way her expression shifted as she seemed to weigh her options. He wanted to tell her how much he cared, how much he wanted her to stay in his life. But he didn’t know how to say those things—not yet.

    Instead, he let the silence stretch, hoping that she might choose to stay—not just for Honnleath, but for him.

    ~~~

    Ariana couldn’t say exactly what she’d hoped for in his answer, but hearing him call her a “friend” hurt more than she’d expected. A sharp ache settled in her chest, catching her off guard. Perhaps she did want more, but it was foolish to think that, wasn’t it? They’d known each other for all of four days. She couldn’t expect him to introduce her to his family as anything more. Even “friend” seemed generous; by most standards, she was little more than an acquaintance.

    Yet the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her at the ruins and listened so intently—it had felt like so much more. She cursed herself for thinking this way. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t logical, to hold on to something so fleeting. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel the pull.

    Cullen must have noticed her distant expression because he shifted closer, his movements deliberate but hesitant. His hand hovered near her face, just shy of her cheek, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should touch her. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

    She glanced up at him, startled by the closeness. The sadness in her eyes softened as she met his gaze, and she smiled despite herself. There was something about the way he looked at her, with such earnest care, that made her feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the same as the admiration she had sometimes received from others; it felt deeper, more genuine. She let out a small, self-conscious laugh. “Just tired,” she murmured, hoping it would be enough to satisfy him, though she knew he saw through her.

    His brow furrowed slightly, his hand still hovering near her cheek, as if trying to decide whether to close the distance. “Ariana,” he said quietly, his tone full of something she couldn’t quite name. “Come with me.”

    Her breath caught at the sound of her name. He’d said it before, during that encounter with Michael but it had been so different then—tense, rushed, and heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. But now, hearing it spoken so softly, so earnestly, it was as though her name carried a kind of reverence. She felt her heart stutter, warmth spreading through her chest as she stared at him.

    He could say my name like that forever, and I wouldn’t mind, she thought, her cheeks flushing at the thought. Maker, what is wrong with me? This is madness, isn’t it?

    “You’d be more than welcome,” Cullen continued, his voice steady but hopeful. “And I think my family would love meeting you.”

    Ariana stilled. There it was again—his sincerity, his kindness, his willingness to include her in his world even after everything that had happened. It made her chest ache in the best way. She felt herself smiling, warmth spreading to every corner of her being. “If you’re sure,” she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of caution and hope.

    “I’m sure,” he replied without hesitation, his smile soft and reassuring.

    Finally, his hand brushed her cheek, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver down her spine. The gentleness of it, the way his fingers lingered just long enough to make her heart race, felt like the answer to questions she hadn’t dared to ask. When his hand lowered, she found herself wanting to reach for it, but she didn’t. Not yet.

    They both rose, picking up their packs, the unspoken connection between them hanging in the air like a promise. As they turned toward the lake, the silence that stretched between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with something unspoken but understood—a quiet contentment, a shared gratitude for this fragile, precious moment.

    As they walked side by side, Ariana felt the weight of her worries begin to lift, replaced by something lighter, something she didn’t fully understand yet. She didn’t know what the future held for either of them, but for now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here, with him and was enough.

  • Chapter 6 – A Templar and a Noble

    13 – 14 August 9:29

    The next morning, Cullen found her waiting by the docks, her gaze focused on the lake as the early morning light reflected off its surface. She looked calm, even peaceful, her guarded expression from their first meeting replaced by a quiet confidence. The sight stirred something in him, a strange mixture of admiration and protectiveness.

    “Ready to go?” he asked, approaching her with a smile.

    She turned to him, her hazel-green eyes catching the light, and for a moment, Cullen felt as if the world had stilled. Her smile was faint but genuine, and she nodded. “Lead the way.”

    They walked south along the lake’s edge, their conversation flowing naturally. Cullen found himself laughing more than he had in years, her wit and curiosity pulling him into topics he hadn’t thought about in ages. When they reached the fallen trees blocking the path, Cullen instinctively stepped forward, intending to help her, but stopped when she effortlessly vaulted over the branches. He paused, watching her, a flicker of surprise and admiration crossing his face.

    She moved with precision, her steps quick and balanced, her form almost graceful. Not a mage, he thought again, still trying to piece together the mystery of who she was. But she wasn’t just anyone, either—there was a refinement to her movements, but also a strength and resourcefulness he couldn’t ignore. It made him even more curious, and he realized that he wasn’t here to investigate her anymore. He was here because he wanted to be.

    The ruins appeared as they rounded a bend in the path. Small and overgrown, they were more remnants than a structure, but her face lit up the moment she saw them. She quickened her pace, her excitement infectious as she hurried toward the crumbling stone.

    Cullen leaned against a crumbled pillar, watching as she moved through the ruins with an energy that was contagious. Her fingers traced faded symbols on the ancient stone, her voice rising and falling as she mused aloud, alternating between speaking to him and losing herself in her thoughts.

    “See this here?” she said, pointing to a partially eroded carving. “It’s Elven, or at least inspired by it. But this curve—it’s more human in style. Maybe adapted for trade or… or diplomacy?” She tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes alight with fascination. “It’s like a blend of cultures, like they tried to preserve the old but couldn’t resist making it their own.”

    She moved to another section, crouching to examine a jagged pattern etched into the base of a stone. “And this… it looks like it might be Fen’Harel again. But why here? It’s so far removed from most Elvhenan sites.”

    He found himself unable to look away, caught in the way her voice shifted between excitement and wonder, her focus so intense that she seemed to forget the world around her. The dim light filtering through the canopy above made her features even more striking, the way her dark hair framed her face, the faint flush of her cheeks from the exertion of their walk.

    And then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

    Ariana froze mid-thought, her fingers still hovering over the stone. She turned her head, startled, her expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and a soft laugh escaped her lips as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I… me? Why?”

    Cullen’s heart stuttered as her eyes met his, wide and earnest. He felt heat rise in his face but pressed on. “The way you see things,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “The way you dive into something most people wouldn’t give a second glance… you don’t just notice the details. You make sense of them, piece them together like a story waiting to be told.”

    Her lips parted slightly, her expression shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. “I… I guess I just never thought about it that way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’ve always loved history. My father used to tell me stories about the past, and I suppose I just…” She gestured vaguely to the ruins around them. “I want to understand it. To preserve it, somehow.”

    He smiled, his chest tightening as he took a step closer, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the stone she’d been examining. “You don’t just preserve it, Ryss. You bring it to life.”

    Her blush deepened, and she looked away, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “You’re giving me far too much credit, Cullen.”

    “No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

    Her eyes flicked back to his, and for a moment, the ruins and the lake seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. She opened her mouth as if to respond but hesitated, her words caught somewhere between her heart and her mind. Instead, she smiled again—small, soft, and genuine—before turning back to the carvings, her fingers gently brushing over the ancient stone as if grounding herself.

    Cullen stayed where he was, watching her, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. Within only a couple of days she had managed to carve a place into his thoughts. And as he stood there, he knew he was meant to be here. With her.

    ~~~

    As they walked back toward The Spoiled Princess, their conversation turned lighter, filled with laughter and stories. Cullen told her about the strange and amusing things he’d witnessed during his time in Lake Calenhad, carefully avoiding anything that might hint at his Templar duties. She told him about her travels, though she kept much of her personal history vague. Despite the missing details, Cullen found himself enchanted by the way she spoke, the subtle humor in her words, and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

    But as they neared the docks, a voice shattered the quiet peace. “Ser! Ser Cullen!”

    Cullen froze. He turned to see a fellow Templar hurrying toward him, armor clinking with each step. His stomach dropped, and when he glanced back at her, the color had drained from her face. Her wide eyes locked on his, and in an instant, the unspoken truth hung heavy between them.

    “You’re… a Templar,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her expression shifted from shock to fear, and then to anger. “I knew it. I knew something was off.”

    Cullen stepped toward her, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Ryss—”

    “I need to go. I’m sorry. If he hasn’t seen me, please don’t tell him about me.” she pleaded with him and in an instant, she turned and bolted, sprinting toward the ruins.

    She didn’t wait for an explanation. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she turned, sprinting toward the ruins they had just left. Cullen cursed under his breath and gave chase, his training taking over. He knew the paths well, and within moments, he found a shortcut, cutting ahead of her and blocking her path.

    “Ryss, stop!” he shouted, his voice firm but desperate.

    She skidded to a halt, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Stay away from me!” she cried, her voice breaking. She tried to dart around him, but his reflexes were faster. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her to prevent her escape. She struggled fiercely, her fear giving her strength, but Cullen held firm.

    He held her firmly but gently, his voice soft as he pleaded, “Please, just stop and talk to me. Why are you so afraid of me now?” He hesitated, then asked point-blank, “Are you… are you a mage?”

    “Let me go!” she demanded, her voice choked with tears. “I am no mage, I swear it. Please, just let me go!”

    Cullen’s grip loosened slightly as her words sank in. He didn’t want to believe she was lying, and the raw desperation in her voice only deepened his confusion. “Then what are you running from?” he asked gently.

    Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps behind them made them both turn. Two Templars emerged from the trees, one of them wearing the commanding presence of a senior knight. Cullen’s stomach sank further as he recognized the man.

    “Ser Cullen,” the Knight-Templar said, his stern gaze shifting between Cullen and Ariana. “What’s going on here? Have you apprehended an apostate?”

    Ariana’s entire body tensed, and Cullen felt her tremble in his arms. His mind raced, trying to find a way to protect her. But before he could respond, the Knight-Templar’s expression changed, his eyes widening as recognition dawned.

    “Ariana?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

    Cullen’s head snapped toward her, his heart sinking as her name passed the man’s lips. “Ariana? Who is… you know her?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

    Ariana closed her eyes, her tears spilling over as she whispered, “Michael…”

    Cullen’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. Her accent, her mannerisms, her guardedness—it all made sense. He remembered Michael mentioning his youngest sister going missing a few months back, though he hadn’t given it much thought at the time. Realization struck him with a wave of guilt, and he cursed himself silently for the lies he’d told her, for unknowingly pushing her into this position.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s heart raced, but she forced herself to stand her ground, her eyes locked on Michael. He looked much older than she remembered, his face harder, the weight of his Templar vows evident in his every movement. Despite the armor, despite the authority he carried, this was still her brother. And if she could reason with anyone, surely it was him. 

    “Michael,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. “Is it too much to hope you’ll forget you ever saw me?” Her gaze flicked around, taking in the positions of the Templars, calculating. The odds were bleak, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

    Michael’s expression darkened, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. “Forget? Do you think this is some childish prank, Ariana? You’ve been missing for months! Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? The shame you’ve brought to our family?”

    Ariana stiffened, her jaw tightening as his words hit her. “Shame?” she shot back, her voice cold and sharp. “What shame? I did what I had to do because no one else would stand up for me. I refused to be a pawn, Michael, and I won’t apologize for that.”

    Michael shook his head, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. Mother has been beside herself with worry—”

    “Mother?” Ariana interrupted, her tone cutting. “She doesn’t care about me, Michael. She cares about appearances, about her precious reputation. What’s she worried about? That the Duchess of Markham won’t invite her to the next ball? That her social standing might take a hit because her youngest daughter dared to want a life of her own?”

    Michael flinched at her words, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, his voice clipped. “Mother is worried about you. We all are. And you running off like this has only made things worse. The Duke and Duchess feel humiliated. They’ve hired mercenaries to find you, Ariana. This isn’t just about family pride—it’s about safety. You think you’re free out here? You’re a target.”

    Ariana took a step closer, her hands balled into fists. “I’ve already spoken to Father,” she said, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “He told me to run. He’s trying to end the engagement, Michael. He understands why I did this. Why can’t you?”

    Michael’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face before hardening again. “Father wouldn’t go against the family’s obligations.”

    “He has!” Ariana insisted, her voice rising. “You think he wants me dragged back to that gilded cage? He’s done everything he can to fix this mess without me losing the life I’ve fought so hard for. Even Frederick understands, Michael! I have a letter from him, apologizing for everything. He doesn’t want this engagement any more than I do.”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his disbelief evident. “Frederick has always been a fool. This isn’t about him, or Father. It’s about you. You made this mess, and now you’ll face the consequences.”

    Ariana’s temper flared. “How dare you?” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “You have no right to lecture me about family obligations. You ran away from them yourself. You joined the Templars to escape Mother’s control, and now you’d drag me back into it? You’re a hypocrite, Michael!”

    His face darkened, the hurt and frustration evident as he barked back, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I joined the Templars because it was my duty—”

    “You joined because it was your way out!” Ariana interrupted, her voice sharp with accusation. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You wanted freedom, just like I do. The difference is I won’t condemn someone else to the life I escaped from.”

    Michael’s lips thinned into a hard line. He turned to the Templar standing beside him and gave a curt nod. “Take her. We’ll bring her to the Circle until transport to Ostwick can be arranged.”

    Ariana’s heart sank as the Templar stepped forward. “No,” she said, her voice shaking with defiance. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”

    She turned, making a desperate move to run, but Michael and the other Templar, Hadley, were faster. They caught her arms, their grips firm as she struggled. “Let me go!” she shouted, her voice raw with frustration and fear.

    Michael’s expression was unreadable as he looked at her, his voice flat and emotionless. “This is for your own good, Ariana.”

    Her eyes burned with tears as she glared at him, her voice breaking. “You’re wrong, Michael. You’re so wrong.” 

    Michael didn’t respond, his face set with cold determination as he and Hadley began dragging her toward the road. As she fought against their hold, she cast one last desperate glance toward Cullen, hoping for some sign of help, of understanding. But his face was a mask of conflict, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he stood frozen in place.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s hand had gone to the hilt of his blade before he’d even realized it, his grip firm as his mind warred with itself. He wasn’t about to fight or kill his fellow Templars—that was ridiculous. He wasn’t prepared for something like that, and yet… the instinct to protect her had surged through him, pure and unbidden. He tightened his jaw, the weight of guilt pressing heavily against his chest. What am I doing?

    He had chased her, cornered her, and for what? She wasn’t a mage; he knew that much now. The look of betrayal in her eyes haunted him, cutting deeper than he’d expected. And for the first time in a long time, Cullen felt unsure of his purpose. She wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat. She was… what is she? A girl on the run from her own life, yes, but to him, she was more than that. She had been a friend in a moment he hadn’t realized he needed one. She had trusted him, even if only a little, and he had broken that trust.

    The anger that simmered in his chest wasn’t directed at her—it never could be. No, his fury was reserved for the others. For her family, for her brother Michael, who dragged her away as though she were some piece of property to be returned. For himself. Mostly for myself. If he had been honest with her from the beginning, if he had told her who he was, maybe she would have confided in him. Maybe she wouldn’t have bolted. Maybe she wouldn’t be looking at him now as if he had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.

    Maker, what am I supposed to do? he thought, his mind racing. His fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword, itching for some kind of action, but what could he do? He couldn’t draw his blade on Michael and Hadley—not over this. He wasn’t even sure what he was protecting her from anymore. She wasn’t a mage. She wasn’t a criminal. And yet… every fiber of his being told him she needed him.

    He felt trapped, as though the weight of nobility’s games had been thrust on him. This wasn’t about justice or duty; it was about control. Nobles and their imagined problems, he thought bitterly, his anger rising. It wasn’t enough that they dictated every aspect of their own lives—they had to drag everyone else into their messes too. And now, because of her family’s expectations, he was standing here, torn between his training and his conscience.

    He looked at her again, her face turned away, her body taut with resistance even as Michael and Hadley restrained her. The image of her earlier that day, exploring the ruins, came unbidden to his mind. She had been happy, free in a way that he doubted she had been in years, if ever. Her hazel-green eyes had sparkled with curiosity and excitement as she traced the faded symbols, her movements unguarded and her laughter genuine. She had trusted him enough to let him see that part of her, to drop her guard entirely. And now… he had destroyed it.

    The guilt twisted in his gut, sharp and unforgiving. I have to fix this, he thought, his resolve hardening. I have to help her.

    As Michael barked orders to Hadley, Cullen’s voice cut through the tense air, firm but not confrontational. “Ser Michael,” he began, stepping forward, his tone carefully measured. “With respect, I don’t believe this is the right way to handle this.”

    Michael turned to him, his expression a mixture of irritation and surprise. “What are you saying, Cullen? She’s my sister. This is a family matter.”

    “And yet you’re treating her like a fugitive,” Cullen replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not a mage. She’s not a criminal. She’s your family. Perhaps she deserves to be treated as such.”

    Michael’s jaw clenched, his grip on Ariana’s arm tightening slightly. “This isn’t about what she deserves. It’s about what’s right for the family.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who was staring at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief. He felt his chest tighten. He had to tread carefully, but he couldn’t let this continue. Not like this. “And what’s right for her?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

    Michael hesitated, his grip loosening ever so slightly. But before he could respond, Ariana spoke, her voice shaking with emotion. “Michael, please. Just let me go. I’m not asking for much—just my freedom.”

    Her words hung in the air, raw and pleading. Cullen swallowed hard, his resolve solidifying. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he couldn’t let her down. Not again.

    ~~~

    He watched as Michael and Hadley dragged Ariana away, her protests growing quieter with each step. His mind raced, guilt gnawing at him. He couldn’t draw his weapon here, not against fellow Templars. Not over this. He had no authority, no grounds, and yet the instinct to protect her was overwhelming him.

    I’ll find another way, he resolved silently. Fighting them outright would only make things worse. Ariana wasn’t a mage. The Templars had no legitimate right to detain her, but he needed to be smart about this. Michael’s position and authority complicated everything, and Cullen knew that helping her escape now would only draw more suspicion. 

    Cullen entered The Spoiled Princess, his frustration barely hidden beneath the composed facade he wore out of habit. As he approached the bar, Gilbert, the tavernkeep, looked up from cleaning a mug, his brows furrowing slightly at the sight of him.

    “I need to collect Ryss’ belongings,” Cullen began, his tone calm but resolute. “She’s been… detained by her brother, but she’ll want her things when she’s released.”

    Gilbert paused, confusion flashing across his face. “Detained? By her brother?” He set the mug down, leaning against the counter. “Who’s her brother, then?”

    Cullen hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ser Michael Trevelyan. A Templar stationed at Kinloch Hold.”

    Recognition flickered in Gilbert’s expression, followed by a deepening concern. “She’s nobility, then? That explains the way she carried herself, but detained by her own brother?” He tilted his head slightly. “Is she…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging, but Cullen understood what he was asking.

    “No,” Cullen said firmly, shaking his head. “She’s not a mage. It’s a complicated, unnecessary matter of runaway nobility.” His voice carried a note of bitterness that surprised even him, though he quickly masked it.

    Gilbert exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Runaway nobility, huh? Well, that’s a new one for me.” He disappeared into a back room and returned moments later with Ariana’s pack. As he handed it over, his expression softened. “She seemed like a good lass. I hope she’ll be alright.”

    Cullen accepted the pack, slinging it over his shoulder. “She will be,” he said, his voice quieter this time. But even as the words left his mouth, doubt gnawed at him. He hoped he was right.

    Gilbert studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “You’ve got the look of someone who means to help her. Just… be careful, Ser Cullen. Nobility and family disputes rarely end well for anyone caught in the middle.”

    Cullen met his gaze, appreciating the innkeeper’s insight. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’ll do what I can.”

    As he turned to leave, Ariana’s pack weighing heavily on his shoulder, Cullen felt the weight of his decision settling in. He had no clear plan yet, but he knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t let Ariana face this alone. Not if he could help it.

    ~~~

    Cullen entered Knight-Commander Greagoir’s office with a measured stride, masking his inner turmoil with an air of professional curiosity. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, determined to ask the right questions without raising suspicion. Greagoir sat at his desk, a stack of reports spread before him, but he looked up as Cullen approached. 

    “Ser Cullen,” Greagoir greeted, his tone neutral but slightly distracted. “What brings you here?” 

    “I heard Ser Michael brought someone in earlier,” Cullen began casually, standing at attention but keeping his tone light. “His sister, I believe? I was just curious—Trevelyan is a noble name, isn’t it? From Ostwick?” 

    Greagoir nodded, setting down his quill. “Yes, the Trevelyans are well known throughout the Free Marches, particularly for their Chantry ties. Their family is quite respected, especially within the noble and religious circles. It’s wise to keep them as allies.” 

    Cullen hid his surprise behind a thoughtful expression. He knew very little about noble families—his upbringing in Honnleath had been far removed from such matters. But the mention of Chantry ties piqued his interest. “I see,” he said, pausing as if to consider. “I’ve not had much reason to learn about the nobility. Do they often involve themselves in matters with the Templar Order?” 

    “Not directly,” Greagoir replied, leaning back in his chair. “But their influence cannot be ignored. They’re close to the Chantry, and families like theirs can make things… difficult if they feel slighted. It’s better to accommodate them when possible. Hence why I agreed to hold Ser Michael’s sister. A small favor for such a family could prove beneficial.” 

    Cullen tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “I understand the importance of maintaining good relations, but if she isn’t a mage… are we even allowed to hold civilians?” 

    Greagoir’s expression hardened slightly, though his tone remained composed. “Technically, no,” he admitted. “But this is not a typical case. The Trevelyans are a family of stature. Their gratitude would far outweigh any concern over procedural details. I trust you understand the practicality of such decisions.” 

    Cullen nodded, forcing himself to appear agreeable. “Of course, Knight-Commander. I’m still learning the nuances of these situations. Thank you for clarifying.” 

    Greagoir gave a curt nod, clearly satisfied with Cullen’s apparent deference, and returned to his reports. Cullen took this as his cue to leave, inclining his head respectfully before stepping out of the office. 

    As he walked through the halls, Cullen’s mind churned with frustration. Greagoir’s explanation hadn’t surprised him, but it had cemented his belief that this wasn’t about justice or duty—it was about appeasing noble families and maintaining political alliances. Ariana’s detention was wrong, no matter how much Greagoir tried to justify it. 

    She doesn’t belong here, Cullen thought bitterly. She’s not a mage, and yet they’re holding her like she’s an apostate. 

    The questions he had asked had been enough for now. Pushing further would only draw attention to himself. For now, he had the information he needed, and his resolve to help Ariana solidified even more. She had trusted him once, and though he’d failed her then, he wouldn’t fail her again. 

    ~~~

    Cullen spent most of his shift combing for answers. Each question he asked was carefully worded, masked under the guise of curiosity about protocol or logistics. He avoided asking directly about Ariana—mentioning Michael instead—and leaned into the pretense of ignorance. It wasn’t until well into the night, when the Templar barracks had settled into a hushed calm, that he learned where she was being kept.

    One of the lower-level guards, eager to share the monotony of his post, confirmed it “Michael’s sister? Yeah, she’s in one of the temporary cells downstairs. Not much trouble, that one. Pretty quiet. I figure she’s just waiting for her noble family to sort things out.”

    The words grated on Cullen. Not much trouble. She wasn’t trouble at all. She was frightened and trapped. He nodded absently at the guard’s comments, excusing himself with a muttered remark about needing to check something before his shift ended.

    When the halls grew quiet, Cullen made his way to the lower levels, his steps deliberate and soundless. The air was cooler here, the faint smell of damp stone and torch smoke lingering in the narrow corridors. He passed the occasional guard, offering a curt nod when necessary, but most were either inattentive or asleep in their posts.

    Reaching the holding cells, Cullen slowed, his hand brushing the set of keys on his belt. These cells were meant for temporary stays—mages awaiting transfer between Circles or individuals detained for minor offenses. They weren’t designed for someone like Ariana. The thought tightened his jaw as he found her cell, pausing for a moment before unlocking the door.

    Inside, the dim light cast long shadows across the small room. Ariana sat slumped in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head resting on them. She was asleep, though her posture spoke more of exhaustion than rest. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her face, even in sleep, carried traces of tension.

    Cullen knelt beside her, his voice low and soft. “Ryss,” he whispered.

    Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, confusion clouded her face. But as recognition dawned, her expression shifted to one of hurt and wary disbelief. She stiffened, drawing her knees closer to her chest.

    “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse, the strain of the past hours evident.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his regret palpable. “I’m here to get you out,” he said firmly, though his voice faltered slightly. “I should have stopped them earlier. I should’ve helped you before this.”

    She stared at him, her eyes sharp and searching, emotions swirling behind the muted green of her gaze. “Why now?” she asked, her tone cutting, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of betrayal clung to every word.

    “Because it’s wrong,” Cullen replied, his voice steady but laced with guilt. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a mage, and this—this isn’t justice. It’s family politics, and it’s not what we’re supposed to stand for.” He paused, his gaze earnest. “I made a mistake, Ryss. I should have let you go, as you asked. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Let me help you now.”

    Her gaze softened slightly, though wariness lingered. “And what happens when Michael finds out? Or the Knight-Commander?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to betray her vulnerability.

    Cullen straightened, his resolve hardening. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “They’ll have no reason to suspect anything until we’re long gone. I’ll deal with the consequences. But right now, I need to get you out of here.”

    For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes locked on his as she weighed his words. Hurt and suspicion warred with the faint flicker of trust that lingered between them. Finally, she stood slowly, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Her hesitation was evident as she extended her hand—not in trust, but in necessity.

    “Will you get in trouble?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, her gaze dropping as though bracing for the worst. Then she looked up again, her concern clear. “I don’t want this to ruin your life.”

    Her words struck him like a blow. He froze, her concern taking him completely off guard. How can she care about my future, he thought, when hers is the one hanging by a thread?

    “I’ll handle it,” Cullen interrupted, his voice firm but softer now. “It’s not your burden to carry. Let me worry about that.”

    She studied him, her eyes flickering with doubt and resolve. Then she gave a small nod. “Alright. Let’s go.”

    Together, they slipped into the silent corridor, their steps careful and deliberate. Cullen’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade as they moved, his body tense with readiness. He glanced at Ariana, her expression set with determination despite the fear that lingered in her eyes. Even now, she cares about what happens to me. She shouldn’t. But I’ll get her out of here, he vowed silently. No matter what it takes.

    ~~~

    Cullen guided Ariana out of the Circle and onto a small boat, the silence between them thick with tension. He kept glancing at her, hoping for some acknowledgment, but her expression was a mask—cool, unreadable, and distant. His mind churned with everything he wanted to say, but none of it felt right. He wanted to apologize, to explain why he had approached her that night in The Spoiled Princess. But confessing that it had started as an attempt to determine if she was a mage felt like it would only make things worse.

    By the time they reached the docks, she stepped out of the boat with quick, purposeful movements, putting as much distance between them as she could. Cullen secured the boat and followed her. “Ryss,” he called out, but she didn’t stop, her pace only quickening.

    Without looking back, she replied, “While I thank you for the rescue, it’s best if we part ways now.” Her voice carried an unmistakable mix of pain and anger.

    Determined, Cullen caught up to her, reaching out to grab her wrist. She pulled her arm back immediately, whirling around to face him, her hazel-green eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “You’ve done enough.”

    He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice softer. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

    She hesitated, her emotions a whirlwind as she weighed her options. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and walk away, to put as much distance between them as possible. And yet, there was something about his voice, about the look in his eyes, that made her pause. He had a way of disarming her that she couldn’t quite fight, and she hated that she felt compelled to listen.

    “Fine,” she said, her tone resigned but edged with irritation. “But let’s have this conversation somewhere less… conspicuous.”

    They walked away from the docks, passing The Spoiled Princess in strained silence until they found a secluded spot within the trees. There, they settled on a fallen log, the silver light of the moon illuminating her face in soft shadows. Cullen was struck again by how beautiful she was, even when her expression was guarded and her shoulders stiff with distrust.

    But tonight, he wasn’t the smooth-talking man she had met in the tavern. Words failed him, his thoughts tangled as he struggled to begin. He felt her gaze on him, expectant and sharp, and he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.

    After a few false starts, he took a deep breath and began. “When I first saw you in The Spoiled Princess, I thought… well, I thought you might be a runaway mage,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “Your demeanor, the way you carried yourself—it raised some flags for me. And, yes, I approached you with that in mind. But that changed, Ryss. That changed the moment we started talking.”

    He looked at her, hoping to find understanding in her expression, but she remained silent, her features unreadable. Pressing on, he confessed, “I should’ve told you the truth that night, but… I didn’t want to lose the chance to know you. I’ve never been as comfortable talking to someone as I am with you. I never wanted to lie, but I didn’t know how to fix it once I started.”

    Determined to prove his honesty, he unraveled the small lies he’d told her. He shared that he was born in Honnleath, not Lothering, and that he was the second oldest of four siblings. He explained how he’d begun training as a Templar at thirteen and had only been stationed at Kinloch for just over a year.

    As he shared these details, apologizing and confessing, he watched her expression slowly soften. Her guardedness began to slip away, her lips curving into a faint smile as he told her stories from his childhood and his family. The anger in her eyes faded as she listened, and he found her nodding, even laughing lightly at a few of his recollections.

    “I didn’t chase you that day because I thought you were a mage,” he said, his voice faltering. “I chased you because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose this… whatever this is between us.”

    Ariana studied him, her gaze softening as his sincerity became undeniable. She could still feel the sting of betrayal, but she also saw the guilt in his eyes and the honesty in his words. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she sighed, her voice gentler now. “If I hadn’t panicked… none of this would have happened,” she admitted. “Maybe Michael wouldn’t have noticed me, and we could’ve just walked away.”

    The tension between them eased, the anger in her eyes fading as she allowed herself to believe him. Cullen, emboldened by her response, smiled faintly, though his heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t stay.

    “So… what happens now?” he asked, his voice tentative. “Where will you go?”

    Ariana sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the dark line of trees beyond them. “My journey needs to continue. There aren’t many places left to hide around here, so… I’ll probably head toward Lothering.” She looked back at Cullen, catching the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes, and her heart clenched in response. She knew she felt the same way.

    Silence stretched between them for a moment before Ariana, sensing that this might be her last chance, decided to share more of herself with him. “You know, I’m the youngest of four,” she began, her voice soft. “In my family, that means something specific. The youngest child is usually promised to the Chantry. The oldest becomes the head of the family, the rest are married off to secure alliances. Simple, straightforward… or so it’s supposed to be.”

    Cullen tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “But… it didn’t work out that way for your family?”

    She shook her head, a faint, bittersweet smile crossing her lips. “No. My eldest brother, Mark, is the heir, of course. He’ll take over as Bann, married well, will carry on the name. But then there’s my sister Kira… she’s a mage. When her magic manifested, they sent her to the Circle. That meant she couldn’t secure alliances through marriage. And Michael…” Her voice trailed off, her expression darkening. “Michael ran off and joined the Templars. I suppose you already know how that turned out.”

    Cullen frowned, his brows knitting together as he listened intently. “And that left you.”

    “Yes,” she said with a quiet nod. “That left me. By all rights, I should have been free. Michael joining the templars met our commitment to the Chantry. Kira’s condition wasn’t mine to bear. But my mother…” Her smile twisted bitterly. “My mother would never allow that. To her, I’m not a person—I’m a tool. A means to restore what she thinks we’ve lost. She’s less worried about me than she is about her standing. She’s probably more upset about the rumors that will spread about her not raising a proper daughter.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he watched her speak. There was a vulnerability in her words, a mixture of frustration and sorrow that he hadn’t seen in her before. She was opening up to him, sharing pieces of herself that she likely kept hidden from everyone else. And in that moment, he realized just how much she had endured to carve out her own path.

    She met his gaze, her voice quieter now. “I thought if I ran far enough, I could escape it all. The expectations, the obligations, the endless weight of what my family wanted from me. But… no matter how far I go, it seems to follow.”

    Cullen reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You’re not running anymore,” he said softly. “You’re choosing. That’s something they’ll never understand, and that’s their loss. Not yours.”

    Ariana looked at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that. For everything.”

    Her time in Kirkwall with Varric had been wonderful—she’d felt safe, happy, even at home. But what she felt with Cullen was something else entirely—something unexpected, powerful, and deeply unsettling in the best way. In just a few days, he had awakened emotions she hadn’t known existed, feelings she couldn’t ignore. Being with him felt different, like a part of her had finally found the place it belonged.

    Swallowing, she wrestled with her urge to stay. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I could stay close…” Her words trailed off but some part of her hope he understood the implication.

    Cullen’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought about asking her to stay. But he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t realistic. “You’re unlike anyone I have ever met. I will miss you,” he said simply, his voice laced with regret.

    Ariana hesitated, a thought crossing her mind—Crestwood. It was only a couple of days away on foot, far enough from Kinloch Hold but close enough that she could maybe see him from time to time. But she didn’t voice it. Not yet. She wasn’t certain what her next step should be, only that she had to keep moving forward. Perhaps, if she could find a way, she would come back.

    “For now,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I have to say goodbye. But… I hope our paths cross again someday. Maybe even soon.” She leaned closer, her hand resting on his arm, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Cullen. For everything.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened as he held her arm, his fingers lingering there, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he could. As she pulled away, he released her with a slow nod, unable to find the right words to say goodbye.

    Ariana turned and began walking away, her silhouette fading into the night as she disappeared into the trees. Cullen watched her go, his heart heavy with resignation. He had known her only a few days, and yet he knew now that he would remember her for the rest of his life.

  • Chapter 5 – A New Beginning

    2 August – 12 August 9:29

    The journey to West Hill would take two to three days, depending on the weather, and Ariana once again found herself enjoying Berthold’s company. The gentle sway of the ship and the endless expanse of sea provided a calming backdrop as they talked. She shared stories of her time in Kirkwall, speaking of her friendship with Varric and the sense of independence she had started to find there. As before, she kept certain details vague, mindful of Varric’s penchant for discretion.

    Berthold, in turn, regaled her with tales of his recent voyages. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said, leaning casually against the ship’s railing, his eyes on the horizon. “Three months ago, I docked in Cumberland, and there was this merchant peddling ‘dragon teeth.’ Claimed they were talismans of protection, guaranteed to ward off everything from storms to, I don’t know, bad hair days. Turned out they were just carved chicken bones. The man sold out before the guards even got wind of it.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “And people actually believed him?”

    “Oh, you’d be surprised, my lady,” Berthold said with a grin. “Folk’ll believe anything if it comes with a good story. Kind of like your friend Varric, I imagine.”

    “Varric would’ve at least made it entertaining,” she replied, her tone light. “And probably worth the coin.”

    Berthold chuckled, nodding in agreement. “True enough. That dwarf could sell snow to a man in the Frostbacks.”

    As they sailed closer to West Hill, Berthold offered her what little he knew about the port. “Not much to say about West Hill, really,” he admitted. “It’s small, mostly a waypoint for traders heading to Redcliffe or Denerim. You’ll find a few decent taverns near the docks, though, and the road south isn’t too dangerous—at least as long as you stay clear of the forests at night.”

    When he saw her thoughtful expression, Berthold hesitated before adding, “I wish I could introduce you to someone like Varric down there, but Ferelden’s not exactly crawling with merchant princes. Still…” He gave her an encouraging smile. “You’re not the same girl I dropped off in Kirkwall. You’ve grown a lot. I think you’ll be just fine.”

    The early morning light was breaking over the horizon when they finally reached West Hill. The air was cooler here, tinged with the earthy scent of the Ferelden coast. As they docked, Ariana felt a mix of anticipation and unease—another step into the unknown, this time without the safety net of Varric’s presence.

    As they disembarked, Berthold turned to her, his expression warm but serious. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’m usually in West Hill about once a month. If you need anything—or if you want to get word to Varric—leave it with the dockmaster here. I’ll make sure it gets to him.”

    Ariana hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick but heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Berthold. For everything. And for leading me to Varric. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”

    Berthold patted her back, a bit surprised but not displeased. “Ah, now, none of that. You’ve done the hard part yourself. You’ll do fine, I know it.”

    As she stepped away, Ariana gave him one last grateful smile before turning toward the unfamiliar streets of West Hill. With her satchel slung over her shoulder and the lessons she’d learned in Kirkwall fresh in her mind, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

    ~~~

    West Hill truly was more waypoint than settlement, a fortress-turned-town with stout stone walls and hardy residents. Ariana’s first impression was of a place both practical and resolute, its people focused on the business of trade and travel. She found a few merchants easily enough and managed to replenish her supplies, though she marveled at how well Varric had already equipped her pack. Every item was chosen for utility, and she smiled faintly at the care he had taken to prepare her.

    The locals she spoke with were friendly and eager to share advice. They recommended a route through Crestwood, a quiet village that offered a good place to rest before heading to the docks at Lake Calenhad. From there, they explained, she could find a small but reputable tavern called The Spoiled Princess, which served travelers heading toward the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. However, they cautioned her that the road south from the Lake Calenhad docks was sparse, with few settlements before Lothering. “You’ll want to be ready to camp in the wilderness,” one merchant warned, his expression serious.

    Ariana thanked them and spent the rest of the day exploring the modest marketplace, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling town. She secured a simple room at a local tavern for the night, its worn wooden beams and smoky hearth offering a sense of comfort. The room itself was small but clean, its single bed and modest furnishings a welcome respite before the long journey that awaited her. As she lay in bed, her thoughts wandered to the path ahead, to Crestwood, and beyond that, to the mysterious Kinloch Hold looming in her mind like a mythic beacon.

    The next morning, Ariana set off early, her pack slung over her shoulder as the road stretched out before her. The journey to Crestwood would take about two days from what she had learned. It was mostly solitary, winding through rolling fields and sparse woodlands.  The occasional traveler passed her by—merchants and farmers bound for West Hill—and she exchanged polite nods and brief words of greeting. The road was peaceful, and the sun shone brightly, but Ariana remained alert, her daggers close at hand. Kirkwall had taught her to be cautious, even in the quietest of places.

    As she walked, she couldn’t help but reflect on how vastly different Ferelden felt from the Free Marches. She had grown up surrounded by bustling estates, orderly gardens, and towering cityscapes. Here, there was nothing but open sky and endless fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of wildflowers and freshly tilled earth, a stark contrast to the salty winds of Kirkwall and the perfumed courtyards of her family’s estate.

    It’s so… open, she thought, marveling at the sheer expanse of the horizon. Back home, her world had always felt confined, hemmed in by walls both literal and figurative. Even in Kirkwall, with its towering black cliffs and labyrinthine streets, there had been a sense of structure. Here, the landscape felt untamed, almost limitless. It was beautiful in its simplicity, but it also unsettled her. The wide-open spaces made her feel small, exposed, as though she were walking under a watchful sky.

    The villages she passed through were similarly quaint, their simple homes built of wood and stone, surrounded by small farms and pastures. She noticed how the people worked side by side, their lives seemingly unhurried and focused on the land. The contrast to the bustling, chaotic energy of Kirkwall couldn’t have been more striking. For all its danger and corruption, the city had been alive with movement, its people driven by ambition, desperation, or both. Here, everything seemed slower, quieter. Ariana wasn’t sure yet if she found it comforting or alien.

    On the first night, she found herself faced with a challenge she had never encountered before: camping under the open sky. Growing up, she had always been surrounded by walls—her family’s estate, Kirkwall’s towering stone structures. Even when she had traveled with her family, they had stayed in comfortable inns, or other noble estates. The idea of sleeping alone, without shelter or guards, was both thrilling and unnerving.

    She chose a spot on a gentle hill, its crest offering a clear view of the stars above. With trembling hands, she unpacked the bedroll Varric had included in her kit and fumbled with the small flint and steel to start a fire. It took her longer than she cared to admit, but when the fire finally caught, a triumphant smile spread across her face. I did it, she thought, a small spark of pride warming her alongside the flames.

    As the night deepened, Ariana sat by the fire, her knees tucked to her chest, staring up at the vast expanse of stars. They felt brighter and more numerous here than she had ever seen in Kirkwall or Ostwick, their light unblemished by city smoke or lanterns. The Visus constellation shone prominently, its familiar shape grounding her in this unfamiliar world. She traced its outline with her finger, whispering its name as though it might grant her strength for the road ahead.

    Lying back on her bedroll, she marveled at how strange yet comforting the experience was. The night air was cool against her skin, the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves surrounding her. There were no walls, no ceilings, no constraints—just the endless sky above and the gentle sway of the grass around her. It felt freeing in a way she hadn’t expected, as though the open world was welcoming her, encouraging her to keep going.

    This isn’t so bad, she mused as she stared at the stars. For all her nervousness, there was something profoundly soothing about being out here alone, relying only on herself. It was as though the world itself was cradling her, whispering that she could handle whatever came next.

    When sleep finally claimed her, it was peaceful, dreamless, and deep. She felt truly untethered—free to rest, free to dream, free to forge ahead on her own terms.

    ~~~

    By the time Ariana reached Crestwood, her legs ached, and her supplies were slightly diminished. The village, nestled along the edge of a winding lake, was as quaint as the locals in West Hill had described. Narrow streets flanked by simple stone and timber homes bustled with quiet activity, while the laughter of children echoed faintly in the crisp afternoon air. The shimmering lake nearby, its surface dotted with fishing boats, immediately caught her eye. Beyond it, the imposing structure of a dam and the weathered remnants of an old fort stood out against the landscape.

    Curiosity tugged at her as she observed the dam, a marvel of stonework and ingenuity that seemed out of place in such an unassuming village. She made her way closer, finding a path that led to a better view. The dam stretched across the lake’s outlet, its sturdy construction weathered by time but still solid. Water spilled through controlled channels, cascading down into the valley below with a constant roar. Crestwood’s entire existence seemed intertwined with this dam—a lifeline and a symbol of resilience.

    Beyond the dam, her eyes traced the silhouette of Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on a rise overlooking the lake. Its once-formidable walls bore the scars of abandonment, yet its commanding presence lingered. Ariana wondered about its history—who had lived and fought there, what battles it had seen, and why it had been left to decay. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might have been like to stand there as a defender, watching over the lake and the village below.

    The quiet hum of Crestwood drew her back from her thoughts, and she turned toward the tavern near the village center. Its wooden sign swayed gently in the breeze, and the scent of roasted meat wafted out, beckoning her inside.

    The interior was warm and inviting, with a roaring fire crackling in the hearth. Wooden beams, darkened by age, stretched overhead, and the scent of stew and freshly baked bread filled the air. Locals sat at scattered tables, speaking in low, familiar tones. It was humble, unpretentious, and utterly different from the bustling energy of Kirkwall or the rigid formality of her childhood in Ostwick.

    After securing a room for the night, Ariana sat at a small table and allowed herself to savor a meal of hearty stew, fresh bread, and cider. She listened to the villagers’ conversations—simple talk of fishing, harvests, and the occasional trouble with wolves in the hills. It was a far cry from the politics and intrigue of Kirkwall, yet there was something soothing in its simplicity.

    Later, as she settled into her room, her thoughts lingered on the dam and the fort. Crestwood seemed like a place where history slept, its scars visible but unspoken. In its quiet way, it reminded her of herself—a place defined by what had come before but still standing, still enduring.

    As she lay in the modest but comfortable bed, the realization struck her like a sudden gust of wind. Kinloch Hold. That’s where Michael is stationed.

    Her heart skipped a beat. Michael—her older brother, the one who had always tried to run around after her trying to keep her out of trouble when they were kids. The one who had chosen his own path by joining the Templar Order, defying their mother’s expectations. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? Should she try to see him?

    The thought filled her with equal parts excitement and dread. If anyone would understand her decision to run, it would be Michael. But then again, he had chosen the Chantry, which was another path of their obligations. She had chosen to run from all obligations… What if he didn’t understand? What if his loyalty to the family and the Chantry outweighed his understanding of her choices?

    I have time to think about it, she told herself, trying to push the uncertainty aside. A couple of days, at least. I’ll decide by the time I reach The Spoiled Princess.

    With the thought lingering, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep. As dreams claimed her, she saw images of the dam, the fort, and Kinloch Hold rising above the lake—a path both uncertain and promising stretched before her.

    ~~~

    Ariana awoke in her small room at the Crestwood tavern to the soft light of dawn filtering through the simple wooden shutters. Rather than setting out immediately, she decided to take a day to explore the village and its surroundings. There was something about Crestwood that intrigued her—its combination of serene beauty and hints of a storied past.

    She made her way to Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on the hill overlooking the village. The climb was steeper than she had expected, but when she reached the top, the view took her breath away. The lake stretched out before her, shimmering in the morning light, and the entirety of Crestwood lay nestled in its shadow. She wandered through the fort’s weathered ruins, running her fingers along the moss-covered stone walls and imagining the stories they held. 

    The fort’s strategic position made it clear why it had once been so important. She could picture the defenders stationed here, watching over the lake and the dam, protecting the village below. Despite its current state of abandonment, it still felt alive with echoes of the past. Ariana found herself lingering, taking in the quiet majesty of the place as the wind rustled through the grasses growing between the stones. 

    After exploring the fort, she descended back toward the dam. The closer she got, the more impressive it appeared. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and she paused on the path to marvel at its construction. It was a feat of engineering she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around—a symbol of both resilience and survival. The dam had clearly withstood the test of time, much like the people of Crestwood themselves. 

    As the sun dipped lower, she returned to the village, stopping by a small marketplace to replenish her supplies. She exchanged polite conversation with the merchants, finding them straightforward and unpretentious. They reminded her of the people she had encountered in Lowtown—not as hardened, perhaps, but with the same practical air of those who knew how to endure life’s challenges. 

    That evening, back at the tavern, Ariana allowed herself one last quiet meal by the fire. Her thoughts drifted to the road ahead—to Lake Calenhad, The Spoiled Princess, and the possibility of crossing paths with her brother. 

    The next morning, Ariana set out southwest from Crestwood, her pack secured and her spirits steady. The locals had told her the journey to the Lake Calenhad Docks would take two days if she kept a steady pace. She followed the well-trodden road, which wound through rolling fields and patches of forest. 

    The air was crisp, the scent of earth and greenery filling her lungs as she walked. This was the longest stretch of uninterrupted travel she had undertaken since leaving Ostwick, and she found herself thinking back to how her journey had begun. She smirked at the memory of boarding Berthold’s ship, expecting her path to be defined by sea travel and bustling cities. Now, here she was, trekking through the Ferelden countryside, surrounded by nothing but open land and endless sky. 

    I suppose this is where the real adventure begins, she thought with a chuckle, adjusting the straps of her pack. 

    The first night, she camped again beneath the stars, her fire crackling softly as she sat cross-legged on her bedroll. She stared at the constellations, tracing their shapes and feeling a familiar comfort in their presence.

    By the afternoon of the second day, Ariana caught sight of the shimmering expanse of Lake Calenhad. The docks came into view shortly after, bustling with activity as boats unloaded their cargo and passengers disembarked. She paused at the edge of the road, taking in the scene.

    Among the crowd, she spotted a few figures in familiar armor—Templars. Her breath caught for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered her options. So much for avoiding Michael entirely, she thought, a flicker of nervousness running through her. Still, she reminded herself that she had resolved not to seek him out. If their paths crossed by chance, she hoped he wouldn’t turn her in, but there was no sense in tempting fate. 

    Carefully keeping her distance from the Templars, she approached The Spoiled Princess, a modest but well-kept tavern near the docks. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, and the sound of laughter and conversation drifted from within. She stepped inside, scanning the room before heading to the bar. 

    “What can I get you?” the tavernkeep, Gilbert, asked, his tone brisk but not unfriendly. 

    “Just some bread and cheese, please,” Ariana replied, keeping her voice calm. 

    Gilbert returned a moment later with her order, along with a small goblet of wine. She discreetly counted out 30 coppers from her pouch and handed them over before choosing a seat in a quiet corner of the room. As she ate, she kept her back to the wall, her eyes scanning the room as Varric had taught her. 

    The Templars remained near the door, engaged in their own conversation and paying her no mind. Ariana allowed herself to relax slightly, though she remained vigilant. Her journey had been long, and she was sore and weary from the road, but she felt a flicker of satisfaction knowing she was one step closer to the life she was trying to build for herself. 

    Just a few days here, she thought, finishing the last of her meal. Enough to rest, resupply, and decide my next move. 

    ~~~

    Unbeknownst to Ariana, someone had been watching her closely since the moment she stepped into The Spoiled Princess. Seated quietly at a table near the door, Ser Cullen Rutherford, an off-duty Templar, had a practiced eye for anyone who looked out of place. From the instant she walked in, he noticed something unusual about her demeanor.

    She moved with a confidence that was subtly at odds with her circumstances. Her dark brown hair, pulled back into a loose braid, was slightly disheveled from travel but still carried an air of care. Her attire was practical—well-suited to the road—but far too fine to belong to an ordinary traveler. The leather of her boots and the detailing on her belt hinted at wealth, yet they bore the marks of days, perhaps weeks, on the road.

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the way she surveyed the room. She wasn’t just looking around; she was assessing, her gaze lingering on the Templars by the door, the barmaid refilling mugs, and the men hunched over their dice games in the corner. Her posture was relaxed but ready, her movements deliberate. To most, she might appear unremarkable—a tired traveler seeking food and rest. But Cullen had spent years honing his instincts, and this girl didn’t fit the mold of anyone who simply stumbled into a tavern.

    Her eyes caught his attention next. Her eyes, a vibrant mixture of green hues and flecks of gold, held secrets untold, beckoning anyone who dared to look closer. He couldn’t place her age exactly—late teens, perhaps—but those eyes told a story of someone who had seen more than their share of the world. They flicked briefly toward his table before returning to the room, missing nothing.

    He noted her pack, set down beside her chair with a care that spoke of experience. It wasn’t just tossed aside like most travelers would do. No, she placed it where it could be reached quickly. The small details painted a picture, one that Cullen found increasingly intriguing: a girl of noble bearing, on the road alone, carrying herself like someone who had learned vigilance the hard way.

    And yet, there was an unguarded moment as she sat back, sighing softly. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as if the weight of the journey had momentarily slipped from her. It wasn’t weakness, Cullen realized, but resilience—someone holding herself together because she had no other choice.

    Cullen’s curiosity deepened as he continued to observe her. A runaway? he wondered. But there was something more to her than that. Her wariness, in particular, caught his attention. Her gaze lingered on the Templars stationed by the door—not too long, but just enough for him to notice. It wasn’t the casual glance of a traveler unfamiliar with the Order’s presence. No, this was different. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly, and her posture shifted, her body angling subtly away from them, as though she were instinctively trying to avoid drawing their attention. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but Cullen’s trained eyes caught it.

    She’s wary of Templars, he realized. And that was enough to set his thoughts racing. Was she a mage on the run? It would explain her caution, the deliberate way she scanned her surroundings, and the telltale guardedness in her eyes. Her refined movements and confident bearing spoke of a noble upbringing, but the way she carried herself now—always alert, always calculating—suggested someone who had been living outside of their comfort zone for some time.

    Fortunately, Cullen was out of uniform, his civilian clothes blending him into the room. He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze linger just enough to study her without being overt. The Templar in him needed to question her, to understand why she seemed so out of place. The man in him simply wanted to know her story.

    Cullen leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. If she is a mage, she’s done well to stay under the radar. There were no outward signs of magic—no nervous twitches, no hurried movements—but that only made him more intrigued. Most young mages would falter under scrutiny, but she moved with a calculated confidence, as though she’d been coached.

    He tapped his mug softly against the table, the sound deliberate but light enough not to draw attention from anyone but her. Ariana’s eyes flicked toward him, a brief flash of confusion crossing her face before her expression smoothed. No panic, no recognition—just mild curiosity. That, more than anything, confirmed his suspicion: she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Templars or their like, at least not enough to fear them outright.

    Rising to his feet, Cullen straightened his tunic and approached her table with a measured, friendly stride. He smiled, adding just the right amount of charm to his tone. “Mind if I join you?”

    ~~~

    Ariana held the stranger’s gaze for a moment before nodding and motioning for him to sit. She couldn’t help but notice how striking he was—short, curly blond hair that seemed effortlessly tousled, hazel eyes that held a quiet intensity, and a broad, well-built frame that suggested strength and discipline. Despite herself, her gaze flickered downward for a brief moment, and she realized with embarrassment that she had bitten her lip. Get a grip, Ariana, she scolded herself. He’s just a man, not the Maker come to life.

    His disarming smile and easy manner threw her off for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, gesturing to the seat across from her. “If you wish,” she said simply, her tone calm and neutral.

    As he sat, he gave her a friendly smile, his eyes studying her with a subtle curiosity. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, his tone warm and conversational, as though it were the most casual observation in the world.

    “Just passing through,” she replied, keeping her voice measured, then turned the question back on him. “Are you from around here?”

    “Cullen,” he introduced himself, offering only his first name and skillfully sidestepping her question. “And you?”

    She hesitated. Something about his response—or lack thereof—set her on edge. He hadn’t answered her question directly, instead giving her his name and deftly steering the conversation back to her. The maneuver was smooth, practiced. Clever, she thought. And probably hiding something.

    “Ryss,” she said finally. Her smile was polite, but her tone carried an edge of suspicion.

    Cullen inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her answer. His gaze lingered, not in an intrusive way but with a kind of quiet curiosity. She could feel him assessing her, trying to piece her together, and it only made her more cautious. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down now—not when she was this close to leaving Kirkwall behind for good.

    Cullen leaned back slightly, adopting a more relaxed posture, though his mind was anything but. “I’m from Lothering,” he offered casually. “Passing through on merchant business.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, though she caught herself in time. Merchant? The word felt foreign coming from someone like him, with his clean, upright bearing and sharp, deliberate movements. No merchant she had ever met carried himself like that. Soldier, maybe. Or something close.

    She continued to nod politely, keeping her face neutral, but the realization dawned on her like a warning bell: Templar. Her stomach tightened. If she had any lingering doubt, it faded as she noticed the subtle way his gaze shifted over her—calculated, observant. He wasn’t just chatting with a stranger; he was assessing her, picking up on the same cues she worked so hard to hide.

    Don’t panic. He doesn’t know anything yet, she reminded herself. She’d been careful not to use her first name or reveal too much, but if this man had even the faintest connection to Michael, her cover could crumble faster than she could react.

    Deciding to pivot the conversation, she leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but pointed. “So,” she said, her hazel-green eyes meeting his with quiet insistence, “what is it that you really do? Because I’ve met plenty of travelers and merchants, and you… don’t quite seem like any of them.”

    Cullen’s easy smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of hesitation passing over his face before he quickly recovered. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. He couldn’t exactly come out and say he was a Templar—not without tipping his hand entirely. But he also couldn’t let the question hang unanswered.

    ~~~

    Cullen sighed inwardly, recognizing he had to tread carefully. The sharpness in her gaze told him she wasn’t someone who could be easily deceived. “Alright,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward, offering a faint smile. “You caught me. I wasn’t entirely honest.”

    He paused, as if weighing his words, then continued. “I do some work on the side—security, mostly. Mercenary work, if you want to put a name to it. Not always the kind of thing people look kindly on, so I tend to avoid leading with that.” He glanced at her, his expression contrite but with a touch of charm. “I didn’t want to ruin the chance to strike up a conversation. After all, it’s not every day someone like you walks into a place like this.”

    Cullen let the compliment hang, watching her reaction closely. It wasn’t entirely untrue—she was striking, not just in appearance but in the way she carried herself. Still, he was testing her, gauging whether flattery would lower her guard.

    Ariana tilted her head slightly, her hazel-green eyes narrowing in playful skepticism. “Mercenary work, you say?” she replied, her tone almost teasing. “I suppose that explains why you don’t quite look like the merchants I’ve met.”

    He chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “It’s honest work, even if it doesn’t come with much prestige. Keeps me on the move, at least.”

    She studied him for a moment, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. “Alright, I’ll forgive you—for now. But only because you’ve managed to make this conversation interesting.”

    Cullen grinned, the tension easing between them. “I’ll take what I can get.” He allowed a moment of silence to settle, then leaned forward again, his expression turning thoughtful. “But since we’re being honest, what about you? You don’t exactly blend into a place like this. And if I’m not mistaken, that accent isn’t Ferelden.”

    Ariana tensed ever so slightly, though her composure remained intact. Her mind raced, sifting through Varric’s lessons. Simple enough to satisfy, or complicated enough to be interesting. She took a measured breath, meeting his gaze with just the right touch of vulnerability. “If you must know,” she began softly, “I’m running from family obligations. Nothing scandalous, just… expectations I didn’t want to live up to. I’m looking for a fresh start, somewhere I can make my own decisions for once.”

    Her words were careful, deliberate, but the subtle tremor in her voice gave them an authenticity Cullen found difficult to doubt. He nodded, leaning back slightly as he considered her answer. “I can understand that,” he said, his tone sincere. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is figuring out who you are apart from what everyone else wants you to be.”

    Ariana’s eyes flickered with surprise, her defenses momentarily softening at his empathy. “Exactly,” she murmured, her voice almost wistful. She quickly recovered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not easy, though. Starting over.”

    “No, it’s not,” Cullen agreed, his gaze steady. “But it’s brave.” His words were simple, but they carried weight, and Ariana seemed to warm to him as she heard them.

    Their conversation carried on, the initial wariness between them giving way to a cautious camaraderie. Cullen found himself genuinely captivated by her—her wit, her poise, the way she carefully chose her words without seeming guarded. She was unlike anyone he had encountered, and the more they talked, the more his curiosity grew.

    But amidst the ease of their exchange, Cullen’s original purpose remained. He still wasn’t certain of who—or what—she was. Her grace and caution hinted at someone accustomed to maneuvering within noble circles, yet she carried herself with the practiced vigilance of someone on the run. Not a typical mage, he thought, but the possibility lingered at the back of his mind. For now, though, he chose to let the conversation unfold, knowing that the truth, whatever it was, would eventually reveal itself.

    As he listened, his initial calculation began to waver. Protectiveness crept into his thoughts, unbidden but undeniable. Whatever she was running from, he found himself wishing to keep it far from her, to ensure she stayed safe. It was a surprising and uncomfortable feeling, one he wasn’t sure what to do with—but for now, he simply listened, letting the evening pass with the quiet intrigue that only she seemed capable of stirring.

    ~~~

    Ariana wasn’t sure when the conversation had shifted from polite exchanges to something deeper. It had started simply enough—Cullen pointing out the safest routes through Ferelden, Ariana sharing what little she knew about the area from Berthold. But as the hours passed, their topics expanded, covering everything from local myths to far-off tales of adventure.

    Ariana shared one of Berthold’s more colorful stories about a pirate who claimed to have found a cave filled with lyrium, only to lose it after a tidal wave swept his ship away. Cullen chuckled at the absurdity, leaning forward slightly as he replied, “Sounds like the kind of tale people tell after one too many pints. But who knows? Ferelden has its share of hidden treasures.”

    He went on to recount a story of his own—a rumor about an abandoned village in the Bannorn where the wind carried strange whispers through the trees. “Superstition, probably,” he said with a grin. “But it kept the local merchants from using the road nearby for months.”

    They fell into a rhythm, trading stories, neither fully realizing how much of their guard had slipped. Cullen’s anecdotes, while careful not to reveal his Templar affiliation, often carried a sense of duty and discipline that Ariana couldn’t ignore. And yet, there was something undeniably warm about him—a charm she found herself drawn to despite her better judgment.

    At one point, as Cullen laughed at her incredulous reaction to one of his tales, Ariana caught herself staring. Maker, he’s handsome, she thought, her gaze lingering on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The realization jolted her, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself. Stop it. This isn’t safe. She forced herself to focus on her drink, pretending she hadn’t just entertained the thought.

    But as they continued talking, Ariana couldn’t help but feel comfortable in his presence—a rare feeling since she’d left Kirkwall. There was something steady about Cullen, something she couldn’t quite place but trusted instinctively. It was a dangerous thought, she knew, but it lingered nonetheless.

    The spell was broken when Gilbert cleared his throat, pulling them both back to reality. Ariana glanced around, startled to find the tavern nearly empty. She exchanged an embarrassed smile with Cullen, who seemed just as surprised.

    Gilbert approached, and Ariana realized she still needed to secure a room. “Do you have any rooms available?” she asked.

    The tavernkeep nodded. “Two silver a night.”

    She reached for her pouch, handing over the coins with ease. Cullen watched her, his initial suspicions softening. A runaway mage would have been far more cautious about spending, and her demeanor didn’t carry the telltale edge of someone hiding from the Circle. While she was clearly running from something, Cullen was increasingly convinced it wasn’t the Order.

    Rising from his seat, Cullen gave her a respectful nod. “Goodnight, Ryss,” he said, his tone genuine. “If you’re still here in a couple of days, I’d like to see you again.”

    Ariana couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You know where to find me,” she replied softly.

    As he left, Ariana felt a strange mix of relief and reluctance. She reminded herself of the risks—Templars frequented this place, and staying too long could draw unwanted attention. Yet, as she climbed the stairs to her room, she found herself hoping she’d have just one more evening like this before she moved on. Just one more, she thought, though she knew better than to make such promises to herself.

    ~~~

    Ariana spent the next two days settling into a rhythm at The Spoiled Princess, letting herself recover from the journey and acclimate to the peacefulness of Lake Calenhad. Each morning, she strolled along the lake’s edge, marveling at the stillness of the water and the way the sunlight danced across its surface. It was nothing like the bustling chaos of Kirkwall or the carefully manicured beauty of Ostwick’s courtyards. It was untamed, vast, and utterly serene.

    But her thoughts kept drifting back to Cullen. There was a comfort in his presence that she couldn’t shake, an unexpected connection that made her feel safe yet unsettled. It was dangerous, this feeling—this pull toward someone she barely knew. He’s handsome, kind, and easy to talk to, she admitted to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. But then she’d remind herself of the risk. What if he’s not who he says he is? What if he’s been hired to find me?

    The thought made her stomach twist, yet it was impossible to reconcile with the Cullen she had spoken to. He had been so genuine, so disarming, that she couldn’t bring herself to believe he meant her harm. Still, caution whispered at the edges of her mind.

    On the third evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Ariana returned to the tavern, half-hoping she’d find him there again. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the lake, and she tried to keep her expectations in check. But as soon as she stepped inside, her eyes landed on him, seated at the same corner table as before. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm smile when he saw her.

    “Mind if I join you?” she asked, echoing their first meeting.

    He couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all.”

    They fell into conversation as easily as before, their words weaving through stories and anecdotes, each feeling the same unspoken ease that had drawn them together. Ariana found herself sharing more of Berthold’s tales, this time about a merchant who claimed to have bartered with a spirit for eternal good luck—a story that earned a hearty laugh from Cullen.

    “I’ll have to remember that one,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Though I’m not sure I’d take my chances with a spirit, even for good luck.”

    Their banter flowed naturally, but as the evening deepened, Ariana’s curiosity sharpened. “You mentioned you’re a mercenary,” she said, her tone casual but her gaze searching. “Have you ever been hired to track someone down?”

    Cullen’s easy demeanor faltered for a split second, his mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t give away his true identity. “That’s not really my line of work,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I deal more with… protecting assets, ensuring goods make it where they’re supposed to go.”

    Ariana nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. Something about the way he deflected made her wary, though she knew better than to press. “I see,” she said simply, keeping her expression neutral.

    As their conversation moved on, she found herself asking another question, this one slipping out before she could stop herself. “Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?”

    The question startled her as much as it did him. She immediately regretted it, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Why did I ask that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She bit the inside of her cheek, berating herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her.

    Cullen tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his expression softened. “No,” he said after a moment. “No one waiting for me.” He hesitated, then added with a small smile, “And you?”

    Ariana’s lips quirked into a faint, almost wistful smile. “No,” she replied quietly. “Not anymore.”

    The silence that followed was comfortable, though heavy with unspoken thoughts. Ariana chastised herself again for the fleeting thrill she felt at his answer. This can’t go anywhere. I can’t let it. Yet, despite her better judgment, she was drawn to him.

    As the tavern began to empty, Cullen leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but steady. “I’d like to show you something,” he said, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Down by the shore tomorrow morning, if you’re willing.”

    Ariana hesitated, but only for a moment. “Alright,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll meet you at the docks.”

    Their parting smiles lingered, and as she made her way upstairs to her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would bring something she wasn’t entirely ready for—something that both excited and terrified her in equal measure.